Finding You
by Luanne
Summary: Ron's wait for Hermione to wake up after the events at Malfoy Manor. Book seven....


**Finding you**

Her usually bouncy curls were limp now, defeated just like the rest of Hermione's slight frame. The skin around her eyes held a bluish tint to it and the rest of her was so pale Ron could have traced every tiny vein along her arms. He held her cold, unresponsive hand in his as he sat with her in tiny darkened upstairs bedroom of Shell Cottage, and the sea lapped quietly outside their window. Fleur had done what she could, murmuring words of comfort slightly in French and then she had slipped away, leaving Ron alone to wait.

Ron was oblivious to everything but the sound of Hermione's shallow breathing, even the way the light danced slowly around her face as the sun was setting. At any other time this would have been enough the make him catch his breath in silent appreciation, now however, he still wasn't breathing, but for a different reason. The icy aftershock of adrenaline still pumped through his veins and he struggled against its power as he tried to breathe slowly, deeply, as though filling his own lungs would help Hermione fill hers. He stroked her clammy skin and wished for her to wake up.

This was awful, worse than merely hearing her scream for her life, because now he could see the damage, now he could imagine how she twisted when each wave of the curse had hit her, how she had struggled to remain on her feet, that first sinking to her knees the first real blow to her resolve. How her screams had become more and more ragged, more and more desperate as the pain had penetrated deeper and deeper until it was inside her very mind, radiating from her pores, dripping from her eyes, pulsating from within her heart.

She was the strongest person he knew. Stronger than him by far because she would have died before she left them, and he had walked out due to hunger. It made him sick. If he lost her now after he had wasted so much time, ignoring her calling for him, needing him….believing himself unworthy, he would never forgive himself.

He would have withstood that torture for her for a hundred years if it meant saving her, reviving her, hearing her. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to the God that had always felt so far away from him these past few years to save her and take him. He had meant that before and he meant it now. He would, if it was within even his magical powers, take her pain away as quickly as he would end this war. It wasn't worth it. They were scarred and beaten and disillusioned. If she was alright after all this he would make it his mission in life to be a support system for her, not an empty shell of a self absorbed man. She deserved better than that, at the very least.

Ron ran his thumb over the hand he was still holding, shocked at how cold she still was. He impulsively wrapped his other arm around her and pressed his face even closer to the outline of her body. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he needed to be close to her. He needed to hold her. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there waiting. He wondered if Harry was done with the grave yet. Ron hoped not, he wanted to help, but he felt, somehow, that if the grave was complete and Hermione still had not woken up, then she wasn't going to. Ron wasn't sure if he could handle that.

He closed his eyes then and, in the middle of praying for her eyes to open, he felt something impossibly light push through his wavy hair. He was afraid to move, afraid that this phantom touch would evaporate. He drew a breath, louder than he thought and then he heard a small whimper. He raised his head immediately and found that her eyes were open, open and staring right at him.

"Hi." He said, not knowing what else to do.

"Ron." She said, her voice sounding like her vocal cords had been seared by hot coals.

"I thought you weren't going to wake up." he blurted out, so relived and shocked that he wasn't even aware of his speaking until the words were out, and he wanted to kick himself as he saw Hermione's eyes fill. She blinked rapidly, trying to silently compose herself.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" She managed to whisper, her eyes imploring him.

"Yes." Ron said, taking both her hands and leaning forward toward her in his chair, "but you're here now. You're safe now." Ron said this as much for her benefit as his own. She squeezed his hands back and he pressed them to his face, mumbling from behind them, "I am so glad you're safe. If you had –"

"I know," she said, the fear in her eyes still evident; "I wanted to fight. I tried."

"You did. You were amazing." He smiled at her then, his pride in her visible and she smiled feebly back. She was exhausted, her features drawn and pale but her eyes were alert, alive – determined. She was back. The relief was so palpable that Ron felt the need to move. He wanted to do something, to jump and yell and scream that everything was going to be ok, that Hermione was alive, that his world wasn't going to fall apart. Instead he stood up slowly and decided that he need to go dig, so he said, "You need to rest. I have to go check on Harry."

When her forehead creased with obvious worry and concern he added, "Everyone is fine, I just want to help him. He's digging Dobby's grave." He added softly, staring out the window.

"Oh." Hermione choked, "Oh, go help him, please. I wish I could."

"No, you need to rest. I want you one hundred percent healthy, ok?"

"Ok." She said and smiled as Ron kissed her palm before turning to leave. As he reached the doorway, Hermione called him back, "Ron?"

He turned his face towards her, his body still in motion toward the door, "Yes."

"Thank you."

He paused then, tapped the doorframe once with his hand as though contemplating a decision. Then suddenly he turned on his heel and strode back to Hermione's bed. He leaned over her for a moment and then closed the space between them by placing a very soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. He needed some way to show her how much she meant to him, how beautiful and strong and wonderful and inspiring and crazy and _necessary_ she was to his existence, and how he had finally figured that out during this agonizing wait but he didn't want to overwhelm her. He had almost…he hoped he hadn't offended her. All this revelation was even a little too much for him, he could only imagine how scared and confused and desperate she felt.

"Ok?" he asked once he had pulled away, biting his bottom lip.

In response Hermione brushed her hand slowly across his cheek and then she smiled, really smiled. And Ron knew that even though things were likely to get much worse with the war in the weeks to come, and that they still didn't know what to do or what to call themselves, as long as he was still able to make her smile things would be fine.


End file.
